


This Moment

by Ghost (PoisonedDeath)



Series: Photography At Its Finest [5]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedDeath/pseuds/Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 10 AM when the breakdown begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Moment

It’s 10 AM when the breakdown begins. Iker’s out at the store, grabbing some food for dinner and Cesc’s in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, idly staring at the television screen, not taking in an inch of the flashing images. He’s elsewhere, somewhere far, far away - until he isn’t.

It’s 10 AM and Cesc’s on his feet, screaming, sobbing. The world is spinning, falling and he’s crashing. He’s on his knees, begging for forgiveness. He’s in fetal position, scraping the skin off of his arms, tugging at his body and the parts he _shouldn't_ have.

10:20 AM, and he’s clambered shakily to his feet. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, razor blade in hand. He’s contemplating; he’s weighing up every option that he has right now, the obvious and obscure blurring into one. His hands won’t still, won’t settle, the anxiety bubbling under the surface as something that he cannot feel. He can only experience it, in this moment, this one, single moment. He cracks, and so does his skin.

By the time 10:30 AM has come and passed, Cesc’s crying over the massacre of his skin, blood across his fingertips, but with no energy to clean his body up. His movements are slow and robotic, his brain is supplying a low hum, the background noise of television static is faded. He is nothing. At this moment, nothing is everything, and he doesn’t exist.

At 10:40 AM, there are arms that fuss over him, bathe him, move him. Hushed words with no context that are hardly audible as Cesc is miles away. It could be anyone. How could he know?

At 10 PM, Cesc emerges from the bedroom, trying not to move his limbs too much – not wanting the pain to engulf him. But familiar arms – Iker’s arms – pull him in instead and even if he’s not okay, then maybe, maybe things will be okay. Somehow.


End file.
